


the grief that does not speak

by blueparacosm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gay Feels, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, starts off slow but gets juicy i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueparacosm/pseuds/blueparacosm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to know someone will miss me when I’m gone.”</p><p>“I’d miss you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the grief that does not speak

**Author's Note:**

> for grace, lam and ginny, even though they didn't want it.

Abby tucks a roll of thread into the pocket of her makeshift scrubs, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Thank you, again. Hurry back, okay? And be safe. Keep them all safe.” 

Bellamy nods solemnly, gripping his rifle with perpetually calloused palms as the older woman expresses her gratitude with a smile. His eyes zero in on the lines around Abby’s tired eyes, the kind that tell a story. The kind that tell you she’s smiled more in her lifetime than he might ever.

A man can hope.

His duties around camp lately have been, put kindly, stupid as hell. Since Clarke left and the original Council members returned to leadership, he’s just some kid. A cadet, again. The 100 still look to him for guidance by habit, and he jerks a thumb in the direction of the real leaders. Once a King, now the royal jester. He’s a punching bag wearing a vest, and instead of leading a war, he’s being sent off to collect seaweed for medical. He doesn’t know if that’s a relief.

Bellamy’s the head of the party, and knows the way to the river by heart after pouring over Lincoln’s hand-drawn maps for months. He’s been assigned three other men to assist him on his Magical Journey. Monty, to confirm that Bellamy’s found the correct plant-life. (As one might guess, bright red seaweed is difficult to differentiate from, you know, green. But it’s not like he’s bitter or anything.) Jasper, who’s dedicated all of his free-time to obsessive firearm training and is now one of the sharpest shooters in camp, mentally stable or not.  
And then there’s Cadet Murphy, who’s been automatically placed in every party of the guard that leaves camp, unless another member of that party requests to have him removed. Miller Sr. told Bellamy the boy now works eight hour days and eight hour night shifts in order to have the privilege officially and permanently granted to him. No one knows why, but really, who knows why Murphy does anything?

Bellamy recognizes that the Seaweed Search Party is entirely useless and he could most likely survive alone, it’s a five mile walk. Though, as Dr. Griffin had so wisely put it, the more the merrier.

Blatantly ignoring Murphy and Jasper has put them on Bellamy’s good side, (maybe on the edge of the side, yeah) and Monty has always had a likable quality about him, so he isn’t all that displeased with his team.

Long strides carry him across the expanse of camp to the gate, where the other three wait for him. Jasper’s leaned against the watch-stand, glaring at his rifle with a disturbing amount of focus, wearing a coat that’s too thick for April weather and his ever-weary face. Monty smiles gently at Miller as he opens the gate, and grips tightly a small unnecessary book of New Earth Horticulture, written and illustrated with the help of Lincoln, as well as a shiny little handgun. Murphy anxiously rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, a semi-automatic pistol poking out of his probably empty backpack and a hood over his head.

Bellamy adjusts his jacket and slings his weapon over his shoulder, jamming his hands into his pockets and striding out in front of his rag-tag team without greeting. Monty shouts a thank you to Miller as the gate swings closed painfully slowly.

Immediately, Murphy begins talking, and Bellamy isn’t sure what else he was expecting.

“Hey Bell-”

“Bellamy.”

“Reserved for the lil’ sis’ hey? I’m more of the delightful family pet, so, fair-”

“As you were saying?” Bellamy says stiffly, staring past as Murphy jumps in front and walks backwards while speaking.

“As I was saying, there’s a river closer to us if we head east.”

Monty pipes up at last, holding a crumpled map with colorful little plants drawn over-top of precise, neat graphite. “The seaweed might not be there, though. We’re better off going north.”

“Looks like we’re taking the scenic route then, hey Bell?” He grins to himself, falling into step next to the older man, who drifts away slightly to the right, expressionless.

This is going to be a long trip.

***

“So, Monty, you’ve been busy lately. Haven’t seen you around much.”

“I’ve been working with the other engineers to build a new aqueduct system, way bigger and more efficient, we’re gonna have a huge garden. We’ll be able to grow our own food again, dude. Tons of it.”

“What kind of plants?” Jasper murmurs, and Bellamy stiffens at the unfamiliar sound of his voice. He hasn’t personally heard him speak in weeks, but the others seem unaffected.

“The food kind.”

“I know, Monty. I mean-”

“Oh! I dunno, quick-growing stuff. Lettuce, radishes, uh, green onions, the bulbs take a while but we could harvest the stalks within like three weeks, pe-”

“He wants to know about the weed.” Murphy chirps, and Monty’s eyes light up. A devious little smile creeps onto his face. “I was hoping you’d ask about that.” Bellamy swears Jasper’s fighting a grin, and this scares him.

“Is it safe?” Bellamy grunts. “Is what safe? Cannabis? Yeah, Dad. No worries.” The boys snicker at Bellamy’s immediate scoff.

“I’m not a dad! I’m just making sure you’re not doing anything dangerous, my mom always said not to get into that stuff.”

“That’s cause she’s a mom, dude. It’s totally safe. You should roll one-”

“I’ll pass.”

“Count me in.” A raspy voice almost sing-songs, and everyone turns to an overly-giddy Murphy, who’s smiling almost wildly.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Monty whispers, shaking his head with a lopsided grin. 

Bellamy looks between the three smiling boys with warmth swelling in his chest, and as Murphy’s squinted eyes and goofy smile are directed his way, his heart leaps to his throat. He scolds himself mentally for the feeling, lengthening his powerful strides to move in front of the group once again. He fights a smile himself, jamming curled fists deep in his pockets. 

“We have to get moving if we wanna get there before dark. Pick up the pace.”

***

An hour disappears in silence, save for a few signature Murphy one-liners and Monty’s responding pity laughs, as well a lot of grunting from Jasper, when the latter suddenly speaks.

“Maya would’ve loved this.” The group glances to the ground to find themselves walking through patches of dandelions, which Murphy immediately begins to kick at. Monty appears to be entranced by the little white parachutes, watching them float into the sky with parted lips and bright eyes, and Jasper holds one between his fingers, smiling weakly. 

“You’re supposed to make a wish and then blow the little seeds away.” The boys look to Bellamy with crooked grins. “That’s stupid.” Jasper mumbles, but holds tight to his. “It’s something they used to do before the war. I read it in a book.”

“Do you think it works?” Monty says quietly, and Bellamy regrets saying anything. They could wish on every star and every dandelion, but they can never un-pull a lever, they can never untie a noose, they can never get their parents and friends and lovers back. When people leave, they don't come back.

That’s just not the way it works, not on Earth.

Bellamy blinks and comes back to reality to see the three of them placing their hopes and dreams in the hands of an overrated fuzzball, a childlike wonder about them. Even Murphy’s eyes are squeezed shut as he makes his wish, and tiny white umbrellas rise up into the breeze.

Part of Bellamy wonders what he wished for. The other parts are afraid to know.

***

Jasper spots the river first, and the sound of rushing water reaches Bellamy’s ears. The group speeds up to a jog, moving towards their destination until the hard ground beneath their feet becomes soft and sticks to their boots.

“I don’t see it.” Monty says, and Bellamy narrows his eyes. “Look harder.”

“It’s bright red. I think I’d catch it.”

“We could walk downstream until we find it.” Jasper suggests, and Murphy cranes his neck around a tree whose roots dip into the water and whose massive trunk and reaching branches block their vision in the direction of downstream. “Yeah, I’m not seeing any red.”

“Upstream?” Jasper tries again, unusually talkative. Monty shakes his head. “There should be tons of it. We should have seen some by now.”

Bellamy sighs, drops his face into into his hands. “Monty, are you sure we went to the right river?” 

The younger boy cringes. “I- I don’t know.”

“I told you little shits, we should have gone east!” Murphy shouts, cheeks pink with frustration.

“You don’t know if it’s there either!” Monty fires back with knitted eyebrows, never looking up from his hand-drawn map.

“We’ll go to the east river, then. We aren’t going back empty-handed.”

“Hell, Bellamy, it’ll be dark by then. It was ten miles east or twelve miles north, and it took us four hours to get here.” Monty throws his hands up in protest and Murphy thumps his head against the tree, rather dramatically.

“Then it’ll be dark. I told Abby not to send for us if we aren’t back by sunset, I planned on something like this happening.” Bellamy groans internally, rubbing his already tired eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s get moving.” Jasper decides, swinging his rifle into his hands and marching forward, and the remaining two look to Bellamy, who shrugs. 

“You heard the man.”

***

And two hours later, just as Monty had predicted, the gang couldn’t see five feet in front of their faces and everyone seemed particularly antsy, especially Murphy.

“We really need to stop, take a break. The grounders hate us again. And they always get you when it’s dark. Always in the dark.” he repeats, looking around with his gun gripped in both hands. Jasper was calm until Murphy started acting up, but now his eyes are wild and his fingers inching closer to the trigger by the minute.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, we’ve got weapons.”

“Bellamy...” Murphy whispers, warning in his tone, “We’ve gotta stop, man. We can’t fight what we can’t see.”

The eldest man sighs deeply, and glances to Monty, the only other voice of reason in his mind. Monty shakes his head. “We need light, anyways. Finn’s bunker is near here, we could head that way, see if there’s flashlights, candles if we’re desperate. We’ll never find what we need without it, either way, and if these two can find themselves a nightlight maybe we can actually walk a few paces without someone crying.”

Jasper and Murphy shoot matching looks of irritation Monty’s way, who just shrugs with a sheepish smile in response.

“Fine. You lead the way, Map.”

***

Bellamy pries the hatch open with Murphy’s help, who dives through the opening the minute he can fit. Jasper scrambles in after him, followed more calmly by Monty, and Bellamy closes the hatch after him, stepping down the ladder with ease.

The stench of rotting corpse hits him like a train. Shit.

Jasper strikes a match and lights as many candles as he can find, one hand over his mouth and nose as he does so. Monty dry heaves in the corner, and Murphy’s collapsed on the bed, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed.

“The smell doesn’t bother you?” Bellamy asks, eyes wet and burning in protest. Murphy laughs. “What smell?”

“What the hell, man?” a muffled voice rings out, Monty. Murphy grins again. “Sinuses. Can’t smell a thing.”

Bellamy shakes his head, suddenly weary from their day trip, and falls down next to the guy on the mattress. Bellamy pinches his nose with a finger and his thumb, and says in a nasal voice, “Is that why you always sound like this?”

Murphy belts out a powerful laugh, slapping the other boy on the shoulder as if they were old friends.

“Shut up! You’re one to talk.”

“What do you mean?” Bellamy chuckles, stretching his arms over his head.

Murphy puffs out his chest, tucks his chin into his neck. “Hi, I’m Bellamy Blake, and I think I’m so god damn funny.” he grunts, in what’s likely the deepest voice he can muster.

Bellamy almost doubles over laughing, clutching his stomach. “You sound ridiculous, you know that?”

“Every day of your life, Bellamy.” Murphy fires back, holding his nose closed to sound like Bellamy had when mocking him. 

Bellamy punches him in the arm as tears prick at his eyes, and Murphy returns the bruise, laughing louder than Bellamy’s ever heard him, even when they were friends. It’s music to his ears.

Jasper lights a candle or two near the bed and walks quickly away, leaving their faces illuminated, suddenly, and Bellamy realizes they’re leaning into each others space, and their shoulders are bumping as they laugh. His own laughter dies out and Murphy’s soon follows as they drift away again, scooting apart somewhat awkwardly. 

“I was almost done puking my guts out, but if that flirt-fest back there continues I’m probably gonna have to go back to my corner.” Monty calls out from across the room, and the two boys look at each other uncomfortably. Murphy’s eyes are bright, his cheeks and ears glowing pink, and Bellamy feels his own face heating up. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and hopes his neighbor doesn’t notice.

“Shut up, Monty.” Murphy crows, slipping off the mattress as the cans and jars on the shelves demand his immediate attention. Bellamy almost feels hurt, the space next to his right suddenly cold, but he shakes the disappointment off quickly. “We need to look for lights, that’s the only reason we’re in here.” He insists, and he can feel all eyes in the room roll at once.

“We’ve got one flashlight over here, Boss.” Murphy calls, making shapes in front of a light with his hands to cast shadows on the wall.

“Quit wasting the battery!” Monty shouts, and Murphy flicks off the light with a groan. “Killjoy.”

“Is that it?” Bellamy says, annoyance obvious in his voice. Jasper slams a drawer shut. “Yeah. We can all grab a candle just because, though. It’s better than nothing.”

“Take the matches. Let’s go.”

***

“Are we there yet?”

“Murphy, I swear to god.”

“Actually, I think we are.” Monty says, the minute the sound of flowing water becomes audible. The boys pick up the pace, running to the riverside quickly.

“You’re shitting me!” Jasper yells, gripping the flashlight to the point that his knuckles are white. “What now?” Bellamy grumbles, stepping forward.

“It’s not here.”

“It’s gotta be. Maybe it’s not right in front of us, but we can’t expect it to work that way. We can’t see upstream or downstream with that little flashlight.”

“Let’s split up. Half go upstream, the others go the opposite way.”

“Okay, one rifle per pair, so, me and Jasper and you and Murphy.” Monty decides, and Murphy tilts his head. “Why not me and Jasper?”

“You’re both loose cannons.” Bellamy answers, and Jasper grumbles. Murphy spits at Bellamy’s boots, who doesn’t even bother to react to it. "Let’s get moving.”

“Wait! We only have one flashlight.”

“I have good eyes. And we got candles. And Bellamy will get in the water if he has to.” Murphy smiles to himself, almost devilishly.

“No, Bellamy won’t.” Bellamy corrects, and with Monty’s small laugh and “stay safe”s quickly bid, the group separates.

***

“We’ve been walking for like twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, and we’re gonna keep walking until I have god damn seaweed to bring back.”

Murphy snorts. “So you have a hero complex even when it’s comes to seaweed harvesting.”

“People will die without it, you little shit.”

“People will die no matter what. Welcome to Earth, enjoy your stay.”

“You’re not dead, are you?”

“No thanks to some damn seaweed, or anyone but myself.”

After a beat, he adds, “Including you.”

“Don’t be like this. You’ve almost killed me, too.” Bellamy grumbles, and Murphy kicks at the dirt, covering the light of his candle from a sudden gentle breeze.

After a moment, the silence is thick with tension. Bellamy tries weakly to break it. “I’m sorry for hanging you. I am.” 

“I don’t think you are. I don’t think people can really be sorry for the things they do down here.”

“Do you want the apology or not?”

Murphy sighs, the fight seemingly leaving him. “I’m really tired.”

“We just rested.”

“I’m tired all the time.”

Bellamy frowns. “Then why do you work so much?”

“You want the honest answer?” Bellamy nods, but Murphy can’t see it the dark. Though something tells him that Murphy’s willing to give that information whether Bellamy wants it or not. “I like feeling useful. Like people might get evidence before they hang me, like they might lose something if they exile me.”

The older boy feels a pang of guilt in his chest, but reminds himself the kid deserved to be exiled, reminds himself that the kid hanged him right back.

Murphy's eyes soften as he looks forward.

“I want to know someone will miss me when I’m gone.”

“I’d miss you." Bellamy says before he can he stop himself. 

Murphy looks up abruptly, blinks a few times. “Don’t lie.”

“I would. Who else would give me hell every day of my life and empty our moonshine reserves?”

“Jasper, maybe.”

Bellamy chuckles and shoves him gently, and Murphy huffs out a soft laugh as well.

“I think, maybe, I’d probably miss you too.”

Bellamy fights back a smile, trying to avoid looking at the guy to his left. Trying to avoid looking at the candlelight dancing in his eyes, trying to avoid looking at the unbalanced way he walks, (which is rather endearing), trying to avoid looking at his lips, his full, adorable lips, the ones that quirk up when he’s trying his hardest not to smile.

“Yeah. I’d miss you.” He says again in a breathy, quiet voice, and squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. Bellamy notices his sluggish posture, and the dark circles under his eyes. 

He drifts to Murphy’s side, trying his hardest to keep his eyes trained on the river, but he’s sure he’s been looking elsewhere for most of the walk. Murphy’s head drops to his shoulder habitually, just as Bellamy had hoped it would. “S-sorry.” He stutters, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and picking himself up again. “No- no, it’s okay.” Bellamy cautiously lifts an arm around the boy’s shoulders, gently nudging his head, heavy with exhaustion, back to the taller one’s shoulder.

His neck grows hot as Murphy laughs softly in disbelief. “I’d never have thought.”

“Hm?” Bellamy hums, scrunching his nose and letting out an artificial yawn, hoping to seem casual.

“Bellamy Blake- the romantic.”

“You wish. I’m just making sure you don’t pass out while we’re looking.” He tries to keep his cool, but Murphy can feel him tense up, gripping his candle tighter in his right hand, hoping the glass jar doesn’t shatter in his palm. The boy visibly blushes even in the soft light, smiling again, and Bellamy curses himself. This was not what he had planned.

Never what he had planned.

A twig snaps.

“What the hell was that?”

A shadow jumps through the trees like a phantom. The two separate immediately, and Murphy quietly sets his source of light on the ground. Trying to swing his rifle over his back, Bellamy drops his candle and it shatters, the light goes out with a sizzle and Murphy panics, hands fumbling with his backpack and wild eyes searching.

“Show yourself!” Bellamy screams, finger on the trigger and aiming blindly at the trees.

The water seems to roar louder as if it were too, afraid, and just as Murphy looks up from yanking his gun from his bag and takes aim at what Bellamy can’t see, he finds himself diving in front of the other boy.

“No!”

Three sounds.

One. The string of a bow, released, an arrow whizzing forward.

Two. A bullet, tearing through flesh.

Three. A scream. He isn’t sure whose.

Blinding pain sears through his abdomen and his shoulder burns.

Something falls from the tree like a bird hit with a stone, and someone is yelling, crying.

Bellamy spares a look at his shoulder, the taste of copper on his tongue. The flesh is bright red, but not the red Bellamy was hoping to find this trip. The hole goes deep, he thinks. Maybe all the way through. That’s okay.

His eyes travel to his stomach, ignoring the screams ringing in his ears and the hands on his body. Something sticks out of it, lodged between his ribs. He doesn’t want that there. He breaks the stick with a hand, and his skin looks funny. Like someone was wiping away the color with water. That’s okay.

His knees buckle, and he collapses, but his head lands in the soft sand. He rolls a bit, and his hand falls in the water. It’s cold.

He blinks, and a familiar face hovers over him, drags him back to the grass. 

“B-Bellamy? Bellamy! No, no no no no no. Bellamy, please. Look at me. You’re okay. Bellamy, please look at me. Can you hear me?”

He can.

“Hey.”

Murphy chokes on a sob, bites his fist. “This is all my fault, Bellamy, I’m-” He touches the bullet wound and laughs sourly when Bellamy cringes.

“Went right through you, hero. I c-can’t believe it got him. We got that asshole, hey? Hey, Bellamy?” His voice shakes, and Bellamy doesn’t like it.

“You can’t save me, can you?”

Murphy smiles, drops his head to Bellamy’s chest, which is sticky with blood. He leans back and screams something terrible. It hurts Bellamy’s ears.

“MONTY! MONTY, HELP!”

“It’s okay, s-stop. He’s not coming.”

“I hate you.”

Bellamy smiles weakly, lips covered in blood. “I hate you too.”

“Why would you get in front of me? You and y-your fucking he-hero complex. No one would’ve missed me, you a-asshole!”

Bellamy’s hand tracks over Murphy’s knee, searching for his hand. It’s cold and covered in blood, but Bellamy slides his fingers between his. “I’d miss you.”

Murphy huffs, wipes away his tears roughly with his free hand, and collapses on his back next to a dying man.

"Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break."

"Shut up, Murphy."

Murphy tilts his head and smiles, breathing as if he were in more pain than the breathing corpse to his left. He looks up at the sky again, tracing the lines of Bellamy's palm.

“The stars, Bellamy. Look at ‘em. That's our p-parents and our friends uh-up there."

“That’s where I’m g-going.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Murphy laughs again, almost to the point of hysterics. “You- you know what else is beautiful?”

“W-what?” Bellamy feels tears slip past his eyes, he likes the way Murphy’s hand feels in his.

“Me.”

Bellamy laughs, and it hurts.

“You’re u-ugly.”

“I’ll let that one slide.”

Murphy’s hand shakes, and Bellamy can’t see the stars anymore. It’s all fuzzy, like dandelion fuzz. He feels sick, and everything hurts. It hurts so bad. “I didn’t want to die.”

The pale boy lacks an answer, shaking with choked down sobs. He rolls over onto his knees, leaning over Bellamy. “I can’t s-see y-”

“I know, it’s okay. Listen, it’s okay, listen to me.”

Bellamy squeezes his hand so hard he’s afraid it might break. The boy starts to hum something, soft and sweet. His voice shakes, and he’s too quiet. “My mom, she sang this to me, at night. You c-can’t see, because it’s night.”

“I’m dying.”

“No, it’s just night.”

Murphy ignores his grunts of protests, and while he sings, Bellamy thinks of Octavia. He thinks of Clarke, of Raven, of Monty. He thinks of Abby and Jasper and Miller and Lincoln. He thinks of everyone, always.

Murphy wipes his own tears and rubs the salty water on Bellamy’s freckled nose with a sad smile. Bellamy would laugh if he wasn’t bleeding out of his shoulder, and if there wasn’t an arrowhead in his stomach.

“This is all my fault.”

“No, M-Murphy.”

“I’m so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

After a moment, Bellamy smiles. Small, and bloody. But a smile. “I’m gla-ad it w-was me.”

“God, I hate you, so much.” Murphy sucks in a shaky breath, and in the light of the lone candle, he watches Bellamy’s eyes flutter. He lies down again, curling up next to Bellamy. 

“I’ll miss you.”

And Bellamy took his last breath, and Murphy closed his eyes.

And Murphy screamed until his throat was raw, and he lied next to Bellamy’s body, and he knew it was his fault, like everything else, and he cried until he was sure he would never be able to cry again.

And he was glad.

***

Monty found them there by the river when the sun rose, and Jasper lost his mind all over again.

They carried Murphy back to camp at gunpoint, and he didn't protest, and he let Octavia wrap her hands around his throat until he couldn’t have screamed even if he’d tried.

Three days Murphy spent in a cell, and an hour on trial.

He pleaded guilty to the murder of Bellamy Blake. He had shot him, after all.

And when everything had been prepared, and he saw the needle hovering above his head, and everything was black, he saw the stars, and he knew he would not be missed.

And he was glad.


End file.
